


what are you waiting for

by zanykingmentality



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Crushes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanykingmentality/pseuds/zanykingmentality
Summary: Agent Song-Covey is the best stealth agent around. She's known Kavinsky since high school, and is determined to not like him ever again.or: the story of how two idiots in love finally realize talking about their feelings will probably solve their problems





	what are you waiting for

**Author's Note:**

> hi i got all the books for this series yesterday and already zoomed through the first one. also this is the longest oneshot i've posted on here to date so let's see how this goes. i feel like my understanding of kavinsky has changed with the books, but don't worry i still love him 
> 
> unbeta-d but spellchecked, so please excuse any lingering errors! thank you!

Recon isn’t really Lara Jean’s favorite.

 

She gets itchy sitting up in the rafters, gun strapped to her back. She’s the lightest on her feet of the group and the quietest, but that doesn’t make her the best at all this _spy_ stuff. She only joined a couple months ago after three years of academy training that still hadn’t managed to break in her personality.

 

In her earpiece, the commander hisses, “That’s enough, Agent.” She flips the switch on her recording device and climbs back up through the hole in the roof.

 

Back at home base, she logs her data, eyes on the back of her head. Her long hair was shorn off not long ago; she finds it easier to work without the extra weight. When she turns, she catches Agent Peter Kavinsky’s eye. He was already looking at her.

 

She blows a lock of hair out of her face and turns back to the machine, pulling her equipment out and shoving it in its compartment off to the side. She feels, more than hears, Kavinsky approach.

 

“Mission go well, Covey?” he asks, that lighthearted lilt in his voice like always. It’s part of the reason they always send him on non-violent missions, the ones that involve talking and intel. Even here, there’s something about him that draws others to him.

 

“As well as usual,” she says back, careful to keep her voice level. She’d known Kavinsky in high school ― they’d rarely talked, but Lara Jean had an insatiable crush on him anyway. Unfortunately, like her life was plucked out of some teen romance novel, he was dating her former best friend Genevieve, so it just didn’t really work out. She’s long since been over her schoolgirl crush.

 

The problem is, in this line of work, they don’t really get the luxury of personal lives. It’s worse for people like Kavinsky; people who have to go out and risk getting recognized. Lara Jean stays in the shadows with her black suit and short, dark hair, so people don’t recognize her so much. Still, from what she’s heard, Kavinsky still wants some semblance of a normal life, so he’s been demoted from a field agent to background agent ― one who sits on the roofs of buildings and aims a gun while negotiations happen below.

 

That’s always been Lara Jean’s job ― she’s the best sniper they’ve got ― but she’s not really complaining about having Kavinsky on her team. He’s not a bad shot, and he’s gotten less insufferable as the years have gone by. Not any less dork, but definitely less _jock._ It’s a good look on him.

 

He gives her a boyish grin. “Guess who’s with you on the Schroeder mission.”

 

Lara Jean looks him in the eyes. “Probably you, by the looks of things.”

 

“Smart as you are beautiful,” Peter says, but Lara Jean just rolls her eyes. He’s incorrigible. For the past year or so, Kavinsky’s been blatantly flirting with her, probably to get a reaction out of her. That ship’s sailed already, Kavinsky. Now it’s another wreckage at the bottom of the sea.

 

At least, Lara Jean _thinks_ it is.

 

She likes to think of their love story like the ending of _Titanic_ : there was room on the door for her crush on Kavinsky, but she let it freeze and drown anyway. She turns and leaves.

 

* * *

 

She’s filling out paperwork when she gets a call from Josh.

 

“Lara Jean Song-Covey,” she says, not glancing at the caller ID.

 

“Wow, I almost took you for a professional there,” Josh says.

 

Lara Jean breathes a laugh into her phone. “What’s up?”

 

“Are you free tonight? I wanna go to that new Korean restaurant that opened by the station.”

 

“Ha _ha_.” Josh likes going to Korean restaurants because he likes hearing her complain about Americanized food. Also, Josh _really_ likes Korean food. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

 

She can hear Josh’s smile. “Great. See you then.” The line clicks off.

 

“Who was that?” Kavinsky says, passing by, folders open in his hands.

 

“Josh Sanderson,” Lara Jean says. Kavinsky gets a strange look on his face, but he says nothing.

 

* * *

 

Things haven’t really been the same with Josh since he and Margot broke up, but honestly, Lara Jean kind of likes it this way. She used to have a crush on him, too, but she’s lucky that fizzled out after they graduated high school. It’s nice having a best friend that she’s not in love with.

 

(Chris, for all the wonderful things about her, is just… hard to talk to.)

 

“So,” Josh says, staring at his menu. “How’s work?”

 

“You know I can’t talk about it,” Lara Jean says. “But… hopefully, if all goes well, I should get a paid leave of a month after this next mission.”

 

Josh’s head bobs, his smile congratulatory. “Nice going, LJ. How big is this one?”

 

“Drug cartel.”

 

“Whoa.”

 

“Yeah, and they’ve been mixing chemicals that could be super dangerous if they get out.”

 

“Sounds like you’re doing God’s work.”

 

“Shut up, Josh.” She smiles anyway. “How’s your work?”

 

“Same as ever. Management wants more articles about the Kardashians. I love being a journalist.” Josh’s voice is light, but there’s a bitterness under all that. Lara Jean can only smile sympathetically. Poor guy. All he’d ever wanted was to discover truths, and he got stuck reporting on major celebrities’ kids and boob jobs and whatnot. It sucks ― but hopefully her work will give him something interesting to write about.

 

* * *

 

Schroeder mission: start.

 

Lara Jean and Kavinsky are positioned on the same roof, right next to each other. Lara Jean shows him how to position his feet so he makes the least noise if he has to shoot. It’s best if the people on the ground don’t know where the shots are coming from.

 

“So,” Kavinsky says, crouching on his heels. “Ever make small talk on these missions?”

 

Lara Jean gives him a look. “No.”

 

“You should. Like, we could really get to know each other.” Lara Jean raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean in a totally friendly way. Like friends.”

 

“Maybe.” She hums noncommittally and ignores the wounded look on Kavinsky’s face.

 

They’re silent for a moment before he starts talking again.

 

“Man, these must get really boring.”

 

Lara Jean keeps her eyes glued to their negotiator. “I guess,” she says after a moment. She gives him a small smile. “The company is kinda nice.”

 

“Are you always a sniper?”

 

“I mean… yeah, pretty much. I’m very good at being invisible.”

 

“Really,” Peter says thoughtfully. “I couldn’t tell.”

 

What’s that supposed to mean? Lara Jean thinks she knows, but she decides not to say anything in response. One thing she’s learned doing this job: prying is only really necessary in potentially dangerous situations. And even then, it’s best to stay diplomatic. She doesn’t see Kavinsky as becoming a threat to her own safety ― though she might give him a bit too much credit, considering they’re both bred by training to be liars.

 

Lara Jean feels heat pricking behind her eyes and reminds herself that she will not cry in the middle of a mission. Feelings are reserved for after work. She’s used to being invisible, anyway.

 

(But somehow, Peter looks at her again and she feels like she _exists_ ―)

 

Shots are fired on the ground, and Lara Jean fumbles with her rifle. She can’t let this distract her. Their agent is running, and her window of time to hit the other guy is slim―

 

The gunshot resounds through the alley. Blood spatters against the wall; it’s not a big deal. She hasn’t killed him, only shot him in the shoulder. Already the team’s on their way to pick him up and take him for interrogation. Someone else will clean up the blood. She will go home and try not to think about it. When she looks at Peter, his eyes are wide, and she can tell he’s thinking something along those lines, too.

 

Lara Jean really hates the missions that get messy.

 

* * *

 

True to their word, the agency gives Lara Jean a month off of work. She stays home and Josh visits her almost daily, claiming he missed his best friend. Of course he did ― he’s Josh.

 

They mostly watch movies together. Lara Jean makes them watch _Sixteen Candles_ and Josh has them marathon _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air._ Sometimes she finds herself thinking about Peter, and the look in his eyes when she’d fired that shot. Then she reminds herself it doesn’t matter. It’s all part of the job.

 

She makes the mistake of falling asleep on Josh’s shoulder one day.

 

It’s not anything romantic ― Lord knows they’ve gotten past all _those_ hurdles already ― but she dreams about blood dripping from her hands in a room with no drain, and there’s so much blood, it’s _everywhere_ , and it’s all from people she’s taken out, people she’s accidentally shot, people she’s hurt, and Lara Jean just wants it to _stop stop stop_ ―

 

“Lara Jean!” Josh shakes her awake. Her eyes are filled with unshed tears. One look at Josh and she falls apart. He runs his hand along her spine. “Shh. It’s okay.”

 

“I dreamed about blood,” Lara Jean says simply.

 

“Work?”

 

She just nods.

 

“Maybe you should think about quitting.”

 

“It’s not that easy to just leave.”

 

* * *

 

One day, about two weeks into her stay-cation, Peter Kavinsky shows up at her door.

 

“How did you get my address?” It’s not the most polite thing to say upon opening the door, but Lara Jean has to be paranoid, and she needs to know.

 

“Asked one of the higher-ups,” Peter says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can I come in?”

 

Lara Jean hesitantly steps aside and lets him into her house. Kavinsky’s eyes flit from one spot of the room to another, like he’s observing her home, the way she lives. She clears her throat and crosses her arms over her chest.

 

“So,” she says, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism in her voice. “What brings you here, Kavinsky?”

 

Peter averts his eyes. He doesn’t answer immediately. Finally, he says, “I wanted to check up on you.” Lara Jean can only raise an eyebrow. It’s been a long time since anyone has just decided to _check up on_ her. “Not in a weird way! I know you’re on vacation and whatever, but I just―” He cuts himself off, unable to find the words he wants to say.

 

Now, if there’s one thing Lara Jean knows, it’s that Kavinsky does not often _not_ know what to say. He has some sort of gift that makes everything he says the _right_ thing to say. Lara Jean’s almost jealous, except she doesn’t really want to talk to people enough to hone those types of skills.

 

“Thanks,” she says. It’s painfully awkward. The last time she’s seen Kavinsky in a non-work environment was after high school graduation, when she’d watched as he downed a spiked bowl of punch in one gulp. She remembers thinking about how, even with purple juice smeared on his face, he could still be dazzlingly attractive.

 

“Do you maybe want to get a milkshake? It’s on me.” Peter’s lips quirk up in a half-smile. “I remember that’s how we first started talking in high school.”

 

 _Oh,_ he remembers. That’s a blow right to Lara Jean’s heart, because she remembers too. She can’t help the smile inching onto her face when she says, “I’d love that.”

 

* * *

 

The diner is mostly empty. It’s very different from the one they used to meet up at ― less blue-blue Portland and more grey-blue New York ― but it feels close enough, and that’s what really counts. Peter orders a chocolate milkshake, just like high school. It’s a little sad that they’re adults and they’re trying to relive moments from high school, but it’s somehow comforting, too. It tastes like home.

 

“So,” Kavinsky says when they sit down. “You’re a pretty good shot.”

 

“You already knew that,” Lara Jean points out. It’s not new information. Everyone in their agency knows Lara Jean’s the best shot they’ve got.

 

“How’d that happen, though?” His smile is kind. Lara Jean tells him the story, and feels more relaxed than she has in years.

 

* * *

 

She gave Kavinsky her number, so she’s not surprised when her phone buzzes from an unknown number that she quickly saves as Peter.

 

Peter: _can’t believe ur making me text first_

 

Lara Jean laughs a little at that, mostly at how insufferable he is while being completely self-aware. Peter _knows_ he’s insufferable. And he _rocks_ it.

 

LJ: _I’m a bad texter. Get used to it._

 

Peter: _damn perfect punctuation. noted_

 

LJ: _i too can lose brain cells_

 

Peter: _very funny lj. i’ll have u know i had a LACROSSE SCHOLARSHIP_

 

LJ: _clapping emoji_

 

Peter: _did u just type clapping emoji and send it?????_

 

LJ: _Yes._

 

* * *

 

She’s reading on the couch with Josh when the doorbell rings.

 

Josh looks up from his comic. “Who?” Lara Jean shrugs and tiptoes her way to the door. The peephole reveals Peter Kavinsky’s face, warped by the lens-glass.

 

“It’s Peter K,” she says. She can practically _hear_ Josh’s disgusted eye roll. “I’m opening it.”

 

“Sure,” Josh says.

 

After a quick breath in, Lara Jean pries the door open. Kavinsky looks at her with smiling eyes. “Hey, Covey,” he says. “Busy?”

 

“You didn’t text,” she blurts. Peter frowns. Wrong thing to say. “Sorry, I just ― Josh is over right now.” Right on cue, Josh appears, leaning on the doorframe.

 

“‘Sup, Peter?” He says.

 

Peter’s face is carefully neutral. Lara Jean’s learned to recognize that expression on missions, the ones where she’d be positioned to watch his every move and the guns that surrounded him. “Sanderson,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Lara Jean. “You two a thing now?”

 

Lara Jean sputters ― if this were a movie, she’d be spitting her drink in Kavinsky’s face. Josh recoils like he’s smelled something gross.

 

“No way,” Lara Jean says, the laughter bubbling in her throat. Josh shrugs and heads back into the house.

 

“I knew you liked Sanderson before,” Peter says, “but still?”

 

“God, no, Peter.” Lara Jean vehemently shakes her head. “Josh and I are friends. We always have been.” She pointedly adds, “We always _will be._ ”

 

“I’ll come back later, then,” Peter says. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to head down to a work party together.”

 

Lara Jean looks at him bemusedly, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “Work party?”

 

“You forgot? The one to celebrate Schroeder.”

 

“I haven’t been to work in like a month, Peter.”

 

He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right. Sorry. I just…”

 

“When and where?” Lara Jean asks. It might not hurt to go. Plus, she _was_ a part of the mission.

 

“Tonight at nine,” Peter mumbles. “Captain’s house.”

 

“I’ll be there,” Lara Jean says. Then she closes the door.

 

“Work party?” Josh asks when she sits back down.

 

“Could be fun,” Lara Jean says, shrugging.

 

“Who are you and what did you do with Lara Jean,” Josh says. He’s joking, but there’s some bitterness there ― the kind that goes with Josh’s insecurity, his whispered fears that everyone he loves will one day leave him. Lara Jean gives him a quick hug and picks her book back up.

 

* * *

 

Lara Jean has learned two things tonight. One, that everyone is in on some kind of secret that she’s not privy to. Second, that Peter Kavinsky is always infuriatingly close. She’s never actually gone to one of these before ― to the point where people have stopped inviting her. Guess Kavinsky didn’t get that memo yet. It’s not a great feeling to not be invited, but Lara Jean has always been more of a homebody than a partier. Still, it can’t hurt _sometimes_ , right?

 

“LJ,” someone says when she walks in. “You actually showed up!”

 

“Kavinsky said I should,” Lara Jean says, rolling her eyes. This earns a giggle and a whisper from the person and their seatmate. All this just serves to remind Lara Jean how she is _not_ a party person.

 

“Covey,” she hears Peter’s voice drawl from behind her. Lara Jean whirls around, trying her best not to seem surprised, and meets his eyes evenly.

 

“Kavinsky,” she says. His curly hair is more ruffled than usual, and he’s wearing ― oh my god are those _suspenders???_ No way. That’s _incredible._ Lara Jean’s eyes linger on the striped straps running over Peter’s chest and almost misses the cocky smile on his lips.

 

“Like what you see?” he says teasingly. Lara Jean rolls her eyes. “Let me grab you a drink.” He grabs her hand and drags her to the kitchen.

 

The wine that immediately catches Lara Jean’s attention is a bottle called _The Federalist_ , with a picture of Abraham Lincoln as decoration. “That’s not right,” she says immediately. “Abraham Lincoln was a…” She notices Kavinsky’s gaze on her and her ears burn. “Never mind.”

 

“Was a what?” Peter asks, his gaze burning, his tone light.

 

“Republican,” Lara Jean says.

 

“Jesus,” is all Peter has to say about that. Lara Jean isn’t sure whether it’s from exasperation or amusement, but she can see hints of both in his smile. She ends up with a cup of cherry coke. She didn’t drive here, but Lara Jean is a lightweight, and she sure as hell isn’t getting shitfaced in front of these people she _works_ with. Especially not Kavinsky. Who knows what he’d try and pry out of her if she was intoxicated?

 

“How’s work been going?” Lara Jean asks Peter. Almost like she’s rubbing in that she hasn’t gone to work in a month, and he still goes every day. It’s _so_ high-school-snow-day, the kind where one school closes but the other one doesn’t ― that sort of thing.

 

Peter bops his head along to the faint music in the background. They’re adults now, so the party isn’t as chaotic as the ones Lara Jean went to in college, but some agent is getting inebriated and tickling noses with mistletoe and asking for a kiss. A group of people are playing pool. The captain stands off to the side, looking like a chaperone.

 

“It’s good,” Peter finally says. “Schroeder’s behind bars, like he should be. Also, this is a party. Why are we talking about work?”

 

“What else am I supposed to talk to you about?” Lara Jean asks. “We don’t really have anything else in common.”

 

“Let’s start with music.” Peter tilts his head back to hear the song better. “I’m In Love With My Car. A true classic.”

 

“Queen,” Lara Jean notes, nodding appreciatively. Peter shoots her a knowing look and she raises her hands in surrender. “Come on, of course I know Queen. I don’t live under a rock.”

 

“That’s not what I was implying,” Peter says, a laugh in the lilt of his voice.

 

“Meaning you were implying something!” Lara Jean shouts, but it’s joking, more _fun._ It’s been too long since she’s gone to a party. (Josh has invited her to some of _his_ work parties, but she feels weird thinking that everyone would assume they’re together.)

 

“Agent Song-Covey,” someone says, stepping into the room. Manda ― a relatively new recruit, all things considered, but she and Lara Jean have always had their differences. “So nice of you to grace us with your presence. And Agent Kavinsky.” She nods to Peter.

 

“You can drop the _agent_ title, you know,” Peter says. “We’re not at work.”

 

Manda’s gaze shifts from Lara Jean to Peter and morphs into something schoolgirl-like. “Of course. Peter. Would you like to dance?”

 

“I’m good,” he says. Manda shrugs and walks away, murmuring to herself. Lara Jean opens her mouth to speak, but Peter’s already being pulled away by someone else like the ever-popular lax bro he’s always been.

 

She finds herself on a balcony overlooking the backyard that’s not huge, but sizable enough, with flowers in exposed dirt and trees that reach past Lara Jean’s head. She thinks about tossing up a dream and leaving it to hang in the eaves. Except this isn’t her house, so maybe not.

 

The breeze is slight. It’s enough to rustle her hair and her clothes, her peach sweater and dark skirt. It’s a little lonely. Stars poke through a curtain of leaves and clouds. Lara Jean doubts she could see one arcing through the sky on a night like this, so close to the electric lights of the city. She has no idea how long she stands on that balcony, leaning on the railing, with her head in the clouds ― something she should have grown out of by now. But here she is: at a work party, hiding away from people like she has been all her life.

 

How long has it been this way?

 

Lara Jean just barely remembers her mother. Her father didn’t grow _distant_ after she died per se, but there was a kind of sadness in his eyes that you could only see if you knew him well enough. He tried to work _harder_ , tried to drown his sorrow in music from the '70s and scientific gynecology. Margot grew hard around the edges. Lara Jean remembers feeling freer, feeling as though nothing could touch her ― whether that was her age or her mother’s presence was anyone’s guess, yet she can’t help but associate the two. If only… If only. Her thoughts are full of _if_ in a world of _is._

 

Being a spy in this kind of world isn’t fun, either. It had seemed like her only option, back then, when college had been too hard and too scary and she’d just needed to _get out._ She wishes she could work with Josh, or maybe follow Margot to Europe and write historical romances about dashing dukes and fair maidens. As much as the thrill of being silent, of stealing information, gets to her sometimes, she can’t help but wish she had time for a personal life ― time for _herself._ Even when she’s on vacation she has to be careful. People could recognize her from the days she’d get caught in. Someone could have sent people after her. Anything was possible. She had to leave this job. There was no way in hell she could keep working like this, keep hiding things and pretending and masking her footsteps and slowing her breathing when it picks up in fear and ―

 

“Covey?”

 

She pulls herself out of the past and into Kavinsky’s confused expression.

 

“I was right,” he says. “You’re not a party person.”

 

Lara Jean shrugs. Tears prick in the back of her eyes. “I needed to think.”

 

Peter lets out a breath that sounds almost like a strangled laugh. “Penny for your thoughts?”

 

“You don’t have a penny.”

 

“I’ll owe you one.”

 

Lara Jean sighs. He won’t really, and a penny isn’t that much in the grand scheme of things, but she starts talking anyway. “I think I’m going to have to quit.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

Peter’s eyes are wide; if Lara Jean didn’t know any better, she’d think he looked almost panicked. “I just… I don’t know? I’m tired of hiding. I want to _do_ something, you know? And I don’t want to have to hide to do it.”

 

“What do you want to do?” Peter’s voice is almost hoarse, though he hasn’t been shouting.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Lara Jean.” She turns to look at him; her name sounds nice on his tongue, but she shoves that thought away into a compartment of _things she will not think about, ever._ Peter’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. “I might like you. A lot.”

 

The world doesn’t stop spinning. The stars don’t stop flickering. The wind still blows through the trees and the leaves still make a faint rustle noise that Lara Jean only processes in the far reaches of her mind, way back there, because all the front seats to the stage of her thoughts are crowded with blank faces, expressions dropped in confusion.

 

“Like… Like friends, right?” Her voice sounds desperate to her, but for the wrong reason. She’s not desperate to convince herself that Peter likes her, _like-likes_ her ― God that sounds so high school, why does she think about _high school so much_ ―

 

She’s desperate to convince herself that she can’t like Peter Kavinsky like that again.

 

Keyword: again. It had gone badly the first time. She’d never told him, only wrote him a letter that she hid in a hatbox in her closet, a hatbox she brought with her to New York. She’d cried over him for maybe half a second, knowing even then that he was too popular, too vain, to ever like her or give her a _chance._ She’d known, even then, that she wouldn’t have been enough for him. That he’d always be looking for more.

 

“No,” he says, and his Adam’s apple bobs again. “Like romantically.”

 

Lara Jean blinks at him.

 

“Jesus, did you really think all the flirting was _just_ a joke?” Peter demands.

 

“I don’t know!” Lara Jean practically yells back, her head crowding with thoughts and emotions, panicky emotions that tell her that she knows how she feels, she just has to tell him ― “I didn’t know what it was supposed to be.”

 

Peter breathes a bitter laugh, like he’s impressed in the worst way. “You really are _so_ dense.” Lara Jean clenches her fists and pointedly doesn’t look at him.

 

“Listen, Lara Jean.” There he goes again, with her name in his voice, a softness in his eyes that she used to notice about him and Gen ― “I’m not telling you this to confuse you or anything. I just… it’s tough. I like you a _lot._ So much it kind of scares me. I’m not asking for you to feel the same way about me. I just… I needed to tell you. And I need to _know_ if you feel the same way.”

 

“I…” Words bundle up and jam in Lara Jean’s throat. She’s _choking_ , she has to be. That, or this is all a dream, and any second now she will wake up and Josh will ask her if she’s okay and she _will_ be, and she’ll go to work and Kavinsky will say some stupid pickup line that _won’t work on her_ ―

 

Peter doesn’t wait for her answer. His hands grip her shoulders, like he’s anchoring her to the ground. “Think about it. Okay?”

 

Lara Jean can only nod mutely.

 

* * *

 

She’s back at work. It’s not as awkward as she thought it’d be. She doesn’t have any missions with Kavinsky, to her knowledge, and she’s done her best to keep their interaction to a minimum. When he gets coffee she ducks out of the break room. She requests to get put on more missions, especially the ones Kavinsky isn’t working on. The downside is she sees Josh a lot less, and has generally less time to herself, but she’s okay with that. Right now, avoidance is key.

 

She really should have quit by now.

 

But there’s something in her, something that tells her quitting right now would ruin everything more than it’s already been ruined. It’s not even like she and Kavinsky were especially close, but even if he’s insufferable and annoying and still vain, she doesn’t like the thought of losing him completely. Which is why she has to avoid him, because getting attached is scary. Everything about this is scary.

 

It’s been a month since Peter confessed to her, but she still can’t find the courage in her to go up to him and tell him that she might like him too.

 

What can she say? Embarrassment isn’t the only reason she’s been avoiding him. Because maybe, _maybe_ , a weird tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach lurches into her throat at the merest _mention_ of him. Besides, personal lives in this profession are _dangerous._

 

Finally, she can’t avoid him anymore.

 

The briefing room is virtually empty. Only Lara Jean, Kavinsky, and a few other stealth agents sit at the conference table. Captain stands next to the projected powerpoint with a little clicker in his hand.

 

“The FBI hired us for this mission,” he says, “so y’all better not fuck this up.”

 

That’s okay. Lara Jean’s already decided this _has_ to be her last mission.

 

The only seat that’s open is the one next to Kavinsky. When she sits down, he nudges her arm with his elbow and winks at her. Lara Jean’s face gets hot ― she quickly shifts her attention to the captain. He clicks through the powerpoint at a lightning speed, talking over it.

 

“We got intel about suppliers from Schroeder for a reduced sentence. So we’re sending agents to these locations.” The slide depicts a map of North America with three circled areas: west Texas, the thumb of Michigan, and a small area in northern California. “Their bases are located here, here, and here. I want Agents Carlisle and du Moines in Texas, Sanchez and Bernard in Michigan, and Song-Covey and Kavinsky in Cali.”

 

She’s with Peter? Somehow she saw this coming, but still. _Noooooo._

 

“You’ll get further instructions when you arrive at your locations. Flights are the day after tomorrow, morning at seven.” Everyone in the room nods. “Dismissed.”

 

Peter’s the first one out of the room.

 

That was strange. Lara Jean looks after him, the dust in his wake, and wonders if he’s more unnerved about being around her than she is.

 

Looks like she’s going to have to be the adult on this one.

 

She finds him at his desk. As much as her instincts tell her to run, she holds out her hand. “Pleased to be working with you, Agent Kavinsky.” He eyes her warily, but takes her hand. “Let’s put aside our personal feelings for the sake of the mission, okay?”

 

Peter still doesn’t say anything. Just nods. That’s the best Lara Jean figures she’ll get for right now, so she goes to take her hand back ― but his grip is too strong, and there’s something strange in his dark eyes, something that Lara Jean recognizes from when she looks in the mirror and thinks about the curls in Kavinsky’s hair.

 

“We should talk,” he says hoarsely.

 

“Okay,” Lara Jean says. “Diner after work?”

 

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dark, and the diner is practically empty. Well, what could be expected of a Tuesday night? Lara Jean takes her usual seat at a booth next to the windows and orders a grilled cheese and a cherry coke. She needs comfort food right now.

 

Peter walks in not much later. A bell chimes when he steps in. Lara Jean’s only managed to get a few bites in of her food. His eyes immediately land on her. He takes a seat across from her.

 

“Hi,” she says.

 

“Hi.”

 

Silence.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lara Jean says. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

Lara Jean bites down on her bottom lip, _hard._ “I really am sorry. I don’t want things to be awkward with us, especially with the mission―”

 

“Why haven’t you quit yet?” he asks. Lara Jean blinks at him.

 

“I… It just… hasn’t felt like the right time.”

 

“Okay,” Kavinsky says. There’s a difference between _Peter_ and _Kavinsky_ ― the two parts of his personality, vulnerable and laid-back respectively. “I want you to be happy.”

 

“I think…” Lara Jean swallows thickly. The words jumble up in her mouth. It’s so hard to _say_ things. “I like you… too, Peter. So, I want you to be happy, too.”

 

His soft, pained expression drops into something shocked, something so vulnerable she wants to reach out and press her palm to his cheek; is that acceptable? So soon? His eyes fill with something like _elation,_ like Lara Jean’s just made his entire day with a few stammered words.

 

“Please tell me you’re not messing with me,” Peter says.

 

Lara Jean shakes her head. “I’m not. I genuinely like you, Peter.”

 

His face breaks into a grin. “Lara Jean Song-Covey,” he says softly. “You… I…”

 

She cuts him off by impulsively leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Peter breathes a shocked laugh, his smile never fading.

 

“There’s no one like you, Covey,” he says, taking her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers.

 

* * *

 

“Cover me,” Lara Jean says. Peter holds the rope fastened around her waist.

 

“Got it,” he says. He lowers her into the room through the roof-hatch, very much like those spy films on TV. Lara Jean grabs hold of a support beam and loops an arm around it to keep her in place, her chest heaving. Below her, a group of people sit around a map with circles in red. Why does everyone circle their target points on a map with red?

 

Lara Jean pulls out her scanner and snaps a picture of the map, then of each individual’s face. She drops a bug to the floor and it scuttles under the table. In her earpiece, she listens to their conversation. She knows Peter is, too.

 

“Anyone can outsmart the FBI,” one guy says. “They’re just people.”

 

“I dunno, man,” someone else says. “It seems really risky.”

 

The first guy slams his palm on the table. “You wanna be the scapegoat, then?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

 

She yanks on the rope twice and Peter starts hauling her up. The bug was programmed to split and attach itself to each person’s leg, feeding headquarters a steady stream of information. As she’s crawling through the hatch, though, there’s a gunshot from below ― the first guy, the boss probably, shot someone standing across from him on the table.

 

“Anyone else try to cross me!”

 

Lara Jean’s climbing grows sloppier; she just barely gets up onto the roof, collapsing into Peter’s arms. He quickly unties the rope around her and wraps his arms around her waist, his nose in her hair. Lara Jean trembles lightly.

 

“Were they shooting at you?” Peter asks.

 

“No,” Lara Jean says. “They didn’t know I was there.” Peter breathes a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

Four months later.

 

Josh is over. He sits on the couch and doodles in his sketchbook: comics and little scenes and whatnot. Sometimes Lara Jean forgets he’s here. Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s kind of comforting.

 

What’s more comforting is this: her back against the counter, Peter’s arms on either side of her, his lips greedily finding hers time and time again. Half-lidded eyes meet Lara Jean’s and she shivers involuntarily. Josh steps in and immediately walks out; neither of them notice him. An unfinished design sits in Lara Jean’s laptop, on the table, but she forgets about it and revels in the feeling of Peter Kavinsky, unattainable Handsome Boy, against her and _with_ her.

 

Now, finally, everything is good.

 

* * *

 

 

"Aww, you've been in love with me since high school?" 

 

"Shut up, Peter." 

 

"I'm keeping this love letter." 

**Author's Note:**

> this final draft is a lot fluffier and has less fight scenes than I had originally intended but I kind of like how it turned out? it's my trademark soft and cute with some angst 
> 
> i do have lots of opinions about the movie and the books so if you wanna talk about any of that hit me up on [tumblr](http://zanykingmentality.tumblr.com/)


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